NORTH of Merced, I cannot see Jays coming from Tuolumne, but I can tell it's going to be overcast here.

Lost in Shanghai is coming down here today. We plan to go to the Castle Air Museum. Old air is fascinating, all the odors of glory days, ceegars, all that manure, and jet fuel. Quite a blend.

We'll see how that goes. Must dress warmly, it's spring here, neebee, but the coast isn't clear yet.

All the years I've been here I've never toured the "bird farm" out in Atwater. There is no real reason. I am not a master of war. I've never had an interest in flying planes. I flew up to Haifa Dome on my 45th and have flown privately over the Bay Area, but it never "got me" like moving up on rock did.

Anyway, the camera's packed and I'm waitin' on Jay, who's on a mission for Lilabiene.

Credit: mouse from merced

Credit: mouse from merced

Credit: mouse from merced

Neat trick, Odd!

Hey, while I'm waiting for him to call, I have been "warned off" of the fire escape on pain of whatever they do to bad boys. The property non-managers here have found they hired a thief in the last manager, who replaced Sly, the ex-Air Police sarge who ran this chump-dump for years.

Sure, Sly knocked up the office gal, but he's copped to it, supports the baby, unlike Liz's first Airman. [Zoomie, prop-head--we had little respect for these SACs of manure, in the main. It's the old Townies vs. Themmies story, really.] But the dopes at Manco-Abbott Property Management replaced him with a sly MF, James, who wrecked their credit and has had a hand in the subsequent evictions of at least a dozen tenants who, for one reason or another, had made "rent deals" with James--ranging from doing work around the place for credit on rent, or paying late or in chunks. He ripped them off for thousands that way, and he ordered fake "supplies" for which he paid himself!

My beef is that the work on my bathroom never got completed after the ceiling fell into the tub, and the finishing work on my a/c unit is not "finished" as it should have been. It's also a fact that they got a "report" that I was seen on the fifth floor fire escape taking pictures last weekend. I've not seen a copy of my lease, as they didn't see fit to offer me one the last time I signed one. They claim it's in there that we keep off the fire escapes. OK, I'll go along with it, or I may find myself looking for another place in a hurry. It's still a sore spot and I am fighting back by standing in the doorway of the balcony to shoot photos instead of actually standing on the balcony. Letter of the law, eh?

I have written a "nicely toned down" version of my side of the repairs story, but doubt I'll get a reply this week. It's been two days, not one word from "the new boss."

God's got this one from here on in.

Gene, looks like the morning "weather reports" I've put out on occasion (mostly when there's a good sunrise)

There’s an outdoor air museum in Atwater, CA, which has dozens of old fly-babies and a gift shop, of course. We headed out there today but little was found about Mr. Dolt, whose history there was our mission.

The Triple-hundredth-whatever Bombish Wing had a supply and workshop net of their own and no patches for his unit were found in the displays, nor is there any sort of record of that unit Bill worked in other than the scant ones provided by Audrey.

However,

we are still encouraged by the very fact that we only talked to two persons today, one a volunteer and the other the paid employee at the register in the gift shop, who was very knowledgbabble in her way. We had a goodood talk about how records shoulded be kepted, but when we considered how many thousands of men made their way though Castle, and the length of time lapsed, it hitted me that The Dolt is but a grain of feldapar in the military monotlith. As were we all.

We probably could have done this by phone and save money.

But then we wouldn’t have had the excuse to have an outing aux flambe.

Why does that word make me cringe?

We began and ended the Bill Dolt info-seeking almost in the first fifteen minutes. I talked to Carol, the attendant (there are no docents, just the planes with their plaques along a paved walkway stenciled this way) and made my way out to the "yard" where the "bird-duhs" are kept (Bombi, remember? Learning to say "bird"?)

There are planes and jets of all varieties--attack, bomber, fighter, tac, you name it. Even a cute little helicopter and an early rice-burning drone. No helicopters but one. But I got Audrey and Camila a pair of twisty-props, the oldest flying device known to man. And an Air Museum ball cap.

And a book--on Castle AFB‘s history, which tells of the first SAC long-range flight operations in 1956-57, in which Bill’s unit probably participated. The first was Op. Quick Kick, with three heavy bombers travelling non-stop for 16,000 miles over the north pole and around the perimeter of North America.

The facts are that Wm. F. decamped from the USAF and made his way to the Yosemitay, just a short hop away, in March.

Down at Castle at the bottom of the hill
There’s a big genius airman named Climber Bill
He has a white rope and some tennies to match
And when he’s climbin’ the cliffsides
Is he hard to catch!
Climber Bill, climbing on the Big Hill
Climber, climber
Climber Bill, oh you thrill
Chill, chill, chill, chill Climber Bill

I saw him one day climbin’ up the Nose
With gallons of water and two gallons of rose
I knew where he was headin’, tryin’ to make
The playground of the climbers, named Texas Flake
Climber Bill, climbing on the Big Hill
Climber, climber
Climber Bill, oh you thrill
Chill, chill, chill, chill Climber Bill

He went up to Arrowhead one October week
For the first ascent party with some Nancy-boy geek
He was jammin’ like crazy and he got ‘em to the top
And when they were done they hit the coffee shop
Climber Bill, climbing on the Big Hill
Climber, climber
Climber Bill, oh you thrill
Chill, chill, chill, chill Climber Bill

So Jay and I made the lunch scene at the 510 and then adjourned to Middle Earth to view the photos from the tour. First, we went to the cigar store for postprandial pleasure.

Winston.

Credit: mouse from merced

Winsome.

Credit: mouse from merced

We sat and maundered over our pasts and pretty much killed another wine soldier before we headed back to the Bistro for steaks. I have found the perfect wine, but perfection never lasts. I'll have to go back again and again. It's the way we are wired. You find a place, a person, a wine, and you stick with it until it's a dead horse. Then you move on.

I'm just as bummed as y'all that The Dolt couldn't wait.

As I told Jay today, had he just held out a bit more, he might have made a lot more Friends and a tidy fortune.

Crew--ten men. It took me 53 paces to go the length of one wing. There are eight engines, two outer single-wheel landing gear and eight tires on each of two fuselage landing gear packages. Hope it comes home empty!

Credit: mouse from merced

Arc Light.

Credit: mouse from merced

Credit: mouse from merced

I spent my youth around heavy aircraft, in Sacramento near McClellan AFB and Mather. Then in Merced under the flight paths of heavy planes of all types.

The Farmers Insurance Company had a regional office on Hwy 99 which was lit by an array of lights that the Castle pilots used to line up their approaches to the runway S-N; and when the company decided to cut their costs by eliminating the Hwy 99 lights, the Base Commander requested they rethink their decision and the lights came back on.

One thing that impacted me when the base was closed in 1995 was the closing of the local climbing/backpacking store, Tuttle Outdoor Equipment, TOE. Mark Tuttle's retail trade slumped bigtime and he was forced to move his trade to a shop in Winton, just north of the base on Santa Fe. We called him, hoping to visit, but he said he was in the middle of some thing.

To wit:
Dave Y. is having a haul bag sewn for an EC attempt and the shop was in disarray. I took the hint and we hit the strawberry stand on our way back to town.

It is a very rewarding visit, should you decide to make the trip to Atwater on your way to or from Yosemite, to the Castle Air Museum, unique in the State, for sure. The displays are hard to tend, as birds do their thing, and weather takes its toll, but the planes are still there for now and have plenty to offer.

wow, and a NEAT missions for lilabiene...
say, i too, am on a mission of sorts, for ol' lilabiene :))

mine is a SECRET mission, :))

yours was a SEEKit mission, ;)

and--man oh man, are YOU soon to be a surprised but happy mouse...
:) have a few surprises to add to your painting package this week...
as you can SEE i missed mailing it out this week...

seems, i as lost in a hair'o'ing adventure of childhood, :O
but it grew into a better stroke of locks...

man oh man, this code talks sure is fun, this word babble of neat
bables... :) they shine so, though at times, CAN be confusing :O
when folks are ON a different subject (that's when it accidently
turns into code--sure do NOT mean to keep anyone out of the banter) :))

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbors”.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there,
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”

It is up to you to be a good neighbor- a fence cannot do that work for you. I think we can all learn a valuable lesson from Mr. Wilson from the show Home Improvement! Was he a good neighbor because a fence separated him from Tim “the tool man” Taylor? NO- it was because he looked over the fence at the real person on the other side.

We lay our words atop nothing more than earlier words.
They make useful, labor-saving gates, just as they make effective walls.
Rock 'n' roll and music of all sorts doesn't care who will be listening to it, I note, casually observant.